


Aching Joints & Soft Voices

by infectedscrew



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Let Tim rest, M/M, Minor Violence, Minor cursing, Teasing, please god the boy just needs some sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 09:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7613284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infectedscrew/pseuds/infectedscrew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim runs himself into a ground during a case. He just needs rest and someone to lull him to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aching Joints & Soft Voices

From her angle Tim looked like a corpse. The light glow of the laptop threw the sharp lines of his cheekbones in such relief that he was gaunt and drawn looking. It did nothing to hide away the bruise-deep dark circles under his eyes. Bone, thin and exhausted, it was clear Tim had been running himself into the ground again.

“You’re staring,” Tim spoke up after a moment, gaze locked on whatever information the computer was feeding to him.

Stephanie shifted at her perch on the edge of her desk. She’d been sitting there for about twenty minutes, weight resting on one hip. In the entire time she’d been there, only two or three words had passed between them. A file, direct from Oracle, was flipped open in one hand and she’d been debating handing it over to Tim at all.

Even if she didn’t know him half as well as she did, she would still be able to see the hard set of his jaw, the tightness in her shoulders and the listless way his hands moved over his keyboard. Tim was wearing apart at the seams.

The mission was important but so was health. If she handed over the latest set of facts, she wasn’t entirely sure Tim would make it through the week.

“You look horrible,” she finally answered.

Tim snorted and wordlessly held his hand up for the documents.

Stephanie hesitated, her grip tightening and crumpling the edge of the manila paper. Her lips pursed and she pulled away.

“Not until you come with me.”

Tim blinked, the expression owlish and a little lost. He turned his head to look at her. Only one half of his face was lit by the computer and it was like seeing half a skull. It made her shiver. How he could willingly ignore everything for cases was beyond her. But he’d been like that since they met. It wasn’t something that would change any time soon.

The file was waved tauntingly in Tim’s face.

“Let’s get something to eat, we can look over the file then.”

Something in Tim’s jaw tightened and he turned back. Internally, Steph fought down the urge to groan.

“Too busy,” he stated.

“Come on, I have the next piece to your stupid puzzle. We can talk about it as you finally get something into you that isn’t protein bars and… jelly worms, seriously?”

“They were on sale, bulk bags,” Tim said, as if that justified everything.

Stephanie rolled her eyes to the dark ceiling of Tim’s safehouse. She lowered her hand to Tim’s shoulder, clamping tight and threatening.

“We’re going. We’ll talk about this case. And,” she paused, lips quirking up, “Jason.”

Tim flinched slightly, trying to hunch in on himself but Stephanie’s hand was holding his shoulder too tight.

“Fine,” he mumbled.

The dinner was blessedly short. Although it was still too long for Tim’s taste. He was grateful that Steph had picked a small, familiar diner with greasy food and steaming coffee. She rarely went for big, fancy restaurants. She preferred more casual places and never hesitated to bring Tim to some over the worst dives in Gotham.

Even if the dinner was short, she still spent as much time as possible raking him over the coals. How she managed to finish her burger between questions and before Babs called her back out was beyond him.

Stephanie was a talented vigilante, after all.

“How long have you been working?” She asked around a mouthful of fries and milkshake.

Tim shrugged. Her eyes narrowed and he swallowed a too big lump of his sandwich.

“Three days,” he mumbled.

“And you haven’t slept,” she stated.

“I have a little,” he protested.

Stephanie’s eyebrows rose, clearly not believing him. She wiped her hands on her napkin, the motion a little angry and a lot violent.

“So, like, five hours total. And I saw your kitchen. It’s all coffee pods, chip bags and a random apple core or two,” she went on, annoyance growing.

A grumble escaped Tim and he petulantly snagged his milkshake. He took a sip of it, trying to find a way out of the hole that Stephanie was digging him into. Or rather, he had dug himself and she was just finding it as she tried over yet another pot-hole he’d made.

“I’ve eaten more than that,” he said, straightening.

“Uh-huh.”

“I have! Jason brought me some food the other night.”

Now Stephanie’s eyebrows rose for a completely different reason. Her lips pursed in a tight smirk and her eyes glittered knowingly.

Tim stared for a moment before his lips parted and he quickly raised his free hand.

“He--”

“So, been hanging out with him a lot?” Stephanie wiggled her eyebrows. “Getting friendly with the enemy? Getting cozy on a rooftop somewhere?”

Very quietly, very tightly, Tim sighed. He lowered his hand to the table and briefly considered leaving.

Stephanie reached across the table and covered his hand with her own. When he refocused on her, she smiled softly.

“Just be careful--”

“Jason isn’t going to do anything,” Tim interrupted, a little hotly.

Stephanie shook her head, “I wasn’t talking about him.”

Tim quieted, taking in her significant look. He nodded, understanding.

“I don’t get a lot of the stuff between Jason and the rest of you boys but I trust you. Even if you can’t feed yourself properly, I trust you to not get into something stupid.”

Something in Tim’s shoulders eased. Outside of Stephanie, no one else knew about his recent activity with Jason. A protective edge came over his nerves whenever Bruce even mentioned the former Robin. He hadn’t even considered telling them. He knew the fallout wouldn’t be good and with the case he was working on, he couldn’t spend his time worrying about it--although it did plague him occasionally.

Before anything deeper could be drawn out between them, Steph’s phone buzzed and she pulled away.

\---

Exhaustion was creeping into every single one of Tim’s nerves. He knew he’d pushed himself too far but he had to finish the case. Bruce had asked for his help, had practically dropped the whole thing in his lap. He wasn’t about to ruin their chances of bringing down a massive drug ring just because his eyes were burning a little.

Three separate interrogations and two days later, Tim had finally found a solid, unquestionable link to the man running bleach laced narcotics into lower Gotham. Everything so far had been wisps of smoke that would never hold up in court, now he had a bank statement, a broken alibi and a name. The one final piece he needed to drop on the DA’s desk was a picture.

Which meant Tim had gone onto a stake out.

Cramped in catwalks of a rickety warehouse on the edge of the docks, Tim kept a sharp eye on the clearing below him. Between the dusty crates, scattered broken bits of machinery four armed thugs had stood guard over a conspicuously clean, pristine metal box. Tim already knew what was inside of it, but just knowing wasn’t enough.

The guilty hands of Phil Metzger needed to be on that box and he needed to snap a photo of it.

Tim’s eyelids drooped slightly. He’d been waiting an hour already. Normally, he could last up to six--seven if he really had to--but he’d been running too long. Steph hadn’t been wrong, he wasn’t going to keep going much more. His joints ached, protesting their overuse and his muscles felt stretched thin, almost static.

Giving himself a rough shake, he refocused.

Movement echoed through the warehouse below him. He watched as the thugs shifted and the great rolling doors opened. Seven more bodies, six of them armed and one very confident in his own safety, strode inside. They walked as a tight group toward the original four. One, the one Tim needed above all the rest, broke away and stepped forward.

Words were exchanged in tight, hushed tones. One of the men who had been guarding the box was gesturing furiously at is as Phil tried to placate him.

Tim shifted, camera snapping a couple decisive images. His knee ached under his weight. He couldn’t sit still anymore, he had to move. Easing off his leg, he moved and the catwalk screeched.

They all dropped silent.

It wasn’t until their guns swung up at him that Tim realized he hadn’t really placed himself in a good position. He only had two choices, down into the men or a full tilt run over an unstable walkway back to the window he’d come through.

Down was effectively taken as an option. Phil disappeared into the chaos maze of crates as the guns blasted into life. 

Tim ducked quickly, bullets pinging off the rusted metal of the walkway and walls. He cursed, rushing across groaning metal. With a skidding slid, he reached the far wall with his exit toward freedom. All he needed was to jump into the scaffolding above the window and he could swing out.

The glass above him shattered as a clever bullet knocked it out of it’s paneling.

A curse escaped him as he threw his hands up to protect his face. He dropped down to his knees until the barrage paused. Just one second was all he needed to get out with the risk of serious damage.

One second wasn’t even close to what he was going to get.

The guns stopped but it wasn’t because the men had kindly decided to stop. Instead they had stopped in awe as the entire catwalk gave a horrible shutter. The metal shrieked and screamed as it crumbled under Tim’s weight, under the pressure of it’s rivets knocked loose by bullets.

“Well then,” Tim mumbled, bracing himself.

Just as the catwalk gave way under him, he launched himself up into the rafters. His hands caught the edge of the old beams but he had no chance of pulling himself up the rest of the way.

The end of a jagged railing caught the edge of his cape, promising to drag him all the way down into growing mess of metal.

Tim choked, arms locking around the beam. He gasped as the unforgiving material went tight around his throat and shoulders. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was mocking himself for being the one superhero done in by their own costume. He didn’t have a couple more seconds before the metal pulled him from his hold.

The cape was snapped free and Tim scrambled up onto the beam. Harsh, wheezing coughs echoed from his burning throat. He lay still for a second, letting air returning to his brain.

“He made it!” One of the dealers shouted below.

They must have taken cover as the catwalk crashed, only coming out to check the wreckage for a vigilante’s body.

“Get rid of him!” Phil demanded, clutching the box to his chest and glaring up at Tim.

Tim groaned, moving hand over to hand to get to his window.

Bullets sprayed up at him. The wood splintered around him but he was able to drop down and swing through the window. Without the cover of his cape, his back and legs were exposed but it was downgrade he’d have to deal with until he managed to get to the closest safe-house.

Pain erupted in Tim’s hip. Blinding, white-hot jagged burning flashed across the skin and muscle. 

Distantly, he was aware that someone cried out but his exhausted mind couldn’t even be bothered to tell if it was himself or not.

The soles of his boots struck a near-by shipping crate’s roof and his knees buckled. He didn’t let himself pause, even as he felt the blood seeping through his suit and down his thigh. His grapple fired off and he, camera tucked safely away, was pulled away from the crumbling warehouse.

Only three streets away, Tim came to a halt on a shadowed rooftop. He let himself drop to the roof, lungs heaving, throat aching and his right side screaming at him. It only took a small shuffle before he managed to lean himself against a water tower. He peeked down at the rip in his suit and flesh.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he whined, fingers probing the stripped skin.

His fingers pressed lightly and pain lanced up his body. His eyes watered instantly and he had to suck in a few deep, shaky breaths before he could reorient himself. He wasn’t going to make it back to his safehouse.

“O,” he panted into the comm. “What’s close?”

“You’re two blocks from a drop-off,” Babs told him, concern managing to lace her computerized voice. “Do you need--?”

“No,” Tim cut him, shakily pulling himself up. He knew exactly what was two blocks away. It wasn’t a safehouse he used often but it was always well stocked. It was also outside of the Bat’s spectrum, which meant he’d be left alone until he was ready.

“Call if you need,” Babs offered after a short pause.

Tim couldn’t bring himself to answer.

\---

The safehouse was not empty when Tim arrived.

A soft light spilled in from the bedroom. Despite it’s welcoming gentleness, Tim was wary and prepared to bolt as he moved toward it. His staff was clutched in one hand as he shuffled as quietly as possible toward the slightly cracked door.

The pressure in his hip was mounting and his throat was still burning from it’s recent choking experience. The exhaustion that he’d been effectively ignoring for close to a week was dropping onto his shoulders and his nerves were frayed. He was not in anyway ready for another fight.

The door swung open and Tim blinked at the sudden light in his eyes.

“Shit.”

Tim could agree with that.

“Tim, you look awful,” Jason said.

Tim swayed. His staff clattered to the ground and a harsh sob escaped him. Embarrassment quickly followed. There wasn’t going to be a fight, he was going to be fine. The very idea of a chance to rest made every piece of him quake and beg for it. He was crashing hard with no way to stop himself.

Jason lurched forward and caught him, strong arms wrapping him close.

“Hey, now. You’re okay,” Jason soothed, shock lingering in his voice.

Tim was only distantly aware of Jason getting him to the bed but he was very aware when large, warm hands were pulling away the suit to check his hip. He caught Jason’s wrist, more of that sheepish embarrassment welling up inside of him.

Above him, Jason frowned, clearly disapproving. He twisted his hand free and continued on his path, despite Tim’s protestations.

“Shut up for a second. I need to look,” Jason chided with no real heat in his voice. “Besides, it’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

The raunchy look that Jason threw Tim’s way only served to make him roll his eyes. Although he did let him continue. The suit, top, tights and all were peeled away and unceremoniously dropped on the floor.

“I can honestly say that I wasn’t expecting you to come crashing through my window at two in the morning, baby bird.”

“Didn’t crash,” Tim mumbled, watching as Jason cleaned and treated the cut in his side.

Jason chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “You most certainly did. I’m surprised you didn’t break anything on your way in. Banging around like Bambi.”

Tim huffed, turning his head to the side. He couldn’t find it in himself to really be annoyed, either at himself or Jason’s teasing.

Protection and safety was all around him. The safe house was secure, locked away from any dangers Gotham might bring. Jason was there to fight away the demons and sooth away the ache in his bones. No matter how graceless it had been, he had crashed into the best possible place for him.

“Your mask is still on,” Jason pointed out as he cleared away the bloody gauze.

Tim lifted a hand to his face and peeled it off. He dropped it on the nightstand, gaze landing on a thick volume.

Jason stood, disappearing into the bathroom to throw away the trash. When he returned he sat on the edge of the bed, near Tim’s uninjured hip. He reached up, fingers unabashedly touching the angry red lines that had been dug into Tim’s throat.

“What happened?”

“My cape tried to kill me.”

Jason chuckled, pulling his hand away. “You want a shirt?” He asked, standing again and moving to the dresser against the wall.

“Yeah,” Tim said in a weak, tired sort of way.

One of Jason’s t-shirts was thrown at him and he sat up enough to be able to drag it over his head. The soft cotton moved over his skin, a welcome touch after the feeling of blood-tacky kevlar. Jason’s spicy, woody scent filled his nose and he relaxed back with a sigh. He tugged one of the blankets over his legs.

“Where are you going?” Tim asked, when he abruptly realized that Jason was moving to the door.

Jason halted, hovering awkwardly. He licked his lips and glanced at the bed. “Well, I figured I’d sleep on the couch.”

Tim frowned, hazy, tiring worry settling into his stomach. “Why?” He pressed, sitting up again, perhaps a little too fast considering how his hip complained.

“Well, you need to sleep or whatever.”

“I want you here,” Tim retorted, now past any anxious nerves he might normally have.

For a moment Jason looked at him, suspicious. In the short time that they’d been together--fooling around more like--they never stayed in a bed unless it meant doing anything other than sleeping. Tim hadn’t thought he’d ever want anything else but, right at the moment, exhausted to the core, aching and furious with himself for messing up an easy stake out, the only thing he wanted was Jason close. He wanted his warmth, his strength pressed against him and his voice rumbling in his ear.

Tim glanced at the book and back to Jason.

“Stay until I fall asleep. You can… You can read to me,” he offered.

Jason’s eyes widened briefly, eyebrows lifting then furrowing. He had turned away from the door but he still hadn’t made the obvious move to return to the bed.

“Read to you?” Jason repeated.

Tim nodded, feeling his face heat up.

“Why?”

Tim swallowed, unsure what to say or if he even could.

Jason was moving close again, a wariness in his movements that was steadily being replaced by knowing confidence. A tilted, almost teasing smile settled on his features. He lifted the book off the stand, reading its cover before looking to Tim out of the corner of his eyes.

“Like the sound of my voice, Timmy?” He said, voice lilting even if there was a bit of ruffling pride there.

“Yes,” Tim stated without hesitation.

The conviction in Tim’s words and face seemed to sway Jason. He gave in, tossed the book to the other side of the bed and kicked off his boots. He stepped around the bed and settled above the covers.

Propped up against the pillows, Jason flipped the book open to the first page. He didn’t start reading until after Tim had curled close, head resting on his lap. For a second, he wasn’t sure he could read at all. None of the normal tension or hesitation was settled across Tim’s features. Instead Tim was pressed against him, looking utterly comfortable and content.

“Just until you fall asleep,” Jason warned.

“Sure,” Tim answered, eyes already slipping closed.

Only two sentences into the first paragraph and they both knew for a fact that he was going to leave. Not especially with the way Tim had thoroughly trapped him a tangled hold. After a week of heavy case work, Tim finally got the rest he deserved, lulled there by the sound of Jason’s voice.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr writing commission that centered around Tim working too hard and Jason reading him to sleep. Hopefully I have accomplished that.


End file.
